Spreading of the Cards
by thievinghippo
Summary: Stories, prompt fics and drabbles about the Inquisition which don't fit into the 'Ash in the Sun' world state. Who knows what the cards will say?
1. Herah Adaar - Reunion

"Inquisitor?"

Adaar looked up from her book and glared at the messenger. She shook out her hands, ignoring the tingle of arcane energy at her fingertips and thought again of Solas. As good as Her Trainer was, Solas helped far more with the mysteries of specializing as a Rift Mage. But there had been no sign of the elf for months.

She had been sitting at the desk for hours, hunched over and as she straightened her spine, and felt every single one of her forty-five years. Sometimes magic simply felt like a young person's occupation.

"Yes?" she said, her voice clipped with impatience. She would master this spell if it was the last thing she did.

"The spymaster said you were to be informed the moment we had word from Val Chevin."

The book fell from her lap. Adaar searched the messenger's face for some clue, some hint which might ease the hammer suddenly pounding her chest. "And what is the word?" she asked quietly. Truth be told, she expected the news quite some time ago, but the Wardens had been silent.

"I don't know, your Worship," the messenger said and she heard the truth in his words. "I'm to tell you to go to the Ambassador's office."

"Thank you," Adaar said, picking the book off of the floor. Bad news, she decided, steeling her heart. Why summon her for good news? She stood, trying to banish the image of Blackwall dead from the Joining in her head. Sending him to the Wardens seemed like the right thing to do then, during his judgment. Why did it feel so completely wrong now?

In her haste, Adaar forgot to duck at the door leading down to the Keep, solidly hitting her staff against the frame, causing her to stumble down a couple of stairs. She thought longingly of her small house in the Free Marches, made for qunari proportions, not elven ones, where she wouldn't have to worry about hitting her head or fitting into a seat.

"You are the Inquisitor," she muttered to herself. If her lover was dead, he was dead. Keeping away from the truth wouldn't change that fact. So she lifted her chin and strode down the stairs. It wouldn't do to act like a twenty-year old, pining after their first love. She had an infant grandchild, for goodness sakes.

She ignored everyone in the Keep, training her eyes on the door that would lead her to Josephine's office. Pushing open the door, she marched right to Josephine's desk, before realizing the Ambassador wasn't there.

"My lady."

Adaar had to reach out and place her hands on the desk in front of her at the sound of his voice, feeling her heart about to burst. Once steady, she turned and looked at Blackwall.

She wanted to drink him up, discover every detail she had missed over the past three months. She wanted to tell him how much she missed him while he was gone. But instead Adaar said the only thing she could think of. "You trimmed your beard."

Just one of several changes, she realized. He looked slimmer than she remembered, but perhaps that was due to the full set of Grey Warden armor he wore instead of a padded gambeson and chestpiece. Blackwall still had a beard, but it was trimmed close to his face and his hair no longer reached the back of his neck.

"I did," he said, his eyes not leaving hers and Adaar felt her cheeks redden under his gaze. He took a step forward. "Herah…"

Adaar couldn't keep herself from smiling, hearing her given name from him once again. With a laugh, she walked over to Blackwall and threw her arms around his shoulders. He gripped her hips as she leaned down at kissed him.

Their kiss was hungry after three months apart and some time passed before they parted. Adaar leaned against the wall with Blackwall flush against her, resting his head on her chest while she rest her chin on the top of his head.

They stayed like that for some time, before Adaar decided to break the spell. "I missed you, Blackwall," Adaar whispered, running her fingers through his now short hair.

He stood up straight then, his hands still holding her hips. "Thom Rainier, now," he said.

Adaar tilted her head. Every time he had said his true name before, he sounded as if it was a curse or a burden, something better left unsaid. But now his voice sounded clear as he said his name. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Blackwall - _Thom_ \- nodded. "I am. I'm not running any longer," he said. "Warden Rainier, liaison to the Inquisition, reporting for duty."

The words took a moment for her to understand. "Liaison?" she asked. "Does that mean you're staying?"

When he left for Val Chevin, she tried not to think of 'what ifs.' But when she indulged, Adaar's worst fear after him not surviving the Joining would be him posted at a far off outpost, and never getting to see him. And now it seemed that all her fears were for naught.

"If you'll have me," Thom said, reaching up and cupping her face.

Adaar closed her eyes as he traced the scar on her cheek. There was so much to tell him, about her own feelings, the state of the Inquisition and so many questions she wanted to ask. But for now, she was content holding and being held. "Always."


	2. Raelin Lavellan - Tarantism

**Tarantism - The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.**

"Did you ever do this?" Raelin asked, watching the procession of young men and women considered to come of age this Summerday march through the Courtyard. They all wore white, pretty spring dresses or plain tunics, looking so bright and impossibly young.

She stood on the raised stairs to the Keep, standing next to Cassandra, soon to be Divine Victoria, who would lead the group in prayer before Mother Giselle spoke to the girls and Chancellor Benedict spoke to the boys. Then the festival would begin, loosely based on the Grand Tourney of the Free Marches.

Josephine had worked tirelessly for weeks to put everything together, convincing Raelin she could celebrate their victory over Corypheus in no finer fashion. Though now that the day arrived, Raelin wasn't quite so sure, painfully aware of the empty space on her left side, which should be where Solas stood. But no matter, she had other things to worry about, such as the fact rumors had already started that she had finally accepted the will of the Marker into her heart. With no _vallaslin_ and now allowing the religious aspect of the festival, people had started to talk.

Her faith in the Elven Gods hadn't faltered, how could they when Morrigan was bound to no less than Mythal, herself?

"I did," Cassandra said. "Before I became a Seeker. I donned a white dress and listened to a Chantry Mother tell me how to live my life."

"Did you heed her?"

Cassandra let out a small snort. "Of course not. I had too many other things to do."

Raelin pressed her toes into the cool, stone floor, glad she decided to be barefoot for the event, wearing only a simple green dress. Josephine picked it out, of course, but the ambassador seemed to realize what Raelin would want in a dress: loose sleeves, a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt down to her ankles. Vivienne warned her to expect people copying the dress throughout Thedas in the coming months and the thought always made her laugh. To think she might be considered a beacon of fashion!

The procession stopped at the bottom of the stairs and Cassandra started speaking. Raelin watched on, looking at the faces of young men and women. Mainly human, but she noticed a few sets of pointed ears and several dwarves as well. Clasping her hands behind her back, she listened to Cassandra's words, telling them to respect each other and how actions were what mattered at the end of the day.

Then they were led away, ready to become mend and women in the eyes of the Chantry. Raelin thought of the Dalish customs, how she became a woman when they gave her _vallaslin_ and had to keep herself from bringing her fingers to her forehead to trace the markings that used to be there. But she pushed the thoughts away and straightened her shoulders. Josephine said she should consider herself a hostess today. And a good hostess wouldn't cry over a lost love.

The festival started almost at once then, and it was - as Blackwall told her some time ago - a spectacle. Raelin played her part well, smiling and tasting bits of food and small sips of wine. She gave no blessings - she never had as it never felt her right - and instead told person after person they would be in her thoughts.

And then the dancing started.

Her heart clenched, even though the energetic dancing was nothing like the graceful moves she shared with Solas at the Winter Palace. Content to simply watch, Raelin sat next to Cole, who seemed enraptured by the movement. "Have you ever danced, Cole?" she asked, sure she knew the answer already.

"No," he said.

Raelin thought back to nights back with her clan, when chores were done for the day and someone would pick up an instrument and people would get up and dance. And before she knew it, her foot tapped along with the beat of the music. A moment later, Blackwall stepped up to her, his hand out. "Care for a dance, my lady."

She didn't particularly want to dance, but Blackwall would be leaving for the Wardens soon and it seemed cruel to deny his simple request, especially when she heard whispers from other Wardens in Skyhold that they didn't expect him to survive the Joining because of his age. "Thank you," Raelin said, standing up and placing her hand in his.

The music picked up speed and Raelin wanted to panic, not quite knowing the steps. But she needn't have worried. Blackwall clearly knew the dance and with his steady hand on her waist, guided her to exactly where she needed to be. And before long, Raelin found herself getting caught up in the music and even letting out a laugh as Blackwall picked her up and swung her around.

She felt breathless once the dance was over and motioned to Blackwall she needed a moment. They walked back over to Cole and Raelin saw Josephine standing next to him, her eyes on Blackwall. Raelin concentrated, knowing Cole could hear her more often than not these days, though she didn't like to think of what that meant, when he could only hear those who needed him.

Another song started, slower this time and Cole said, "I would like to dance."

"Of course," Raelin said, holding out her hand.

Next to her, Blackwall turned to Josephine. "My lady?"

Josephine made no response, simply putting her hand in Blackwall's as they walked to the dancing area.

Cole seemed content to start dancing right where they were, not bothering to move. So Raelin put both of her hands in his and they started twirling around in a circle, neither one of them even pretending to know the steps belonging to the music. Glancing out on the dance floor, the movements seemed complicated, but both Blackwall and Josephine looked confident in their steps. Perhaps it was cruel to push the two of them together for a dance when they'd be parted soon. But if Raelin had learned anything thanks to her romance with Solas, it was to grab happiness when you can.

But then she decided to stop thinking. Especially about him. Not to when the grass felt soft beneath her feet, the wind and dancing sure to mess up her hair and she had no doubt people would laugh at how silly the Inquisitor looked dancing in a circle by herself, for none of them would remember Cole.

It was liberating.

Once the music stopped, Raelin laughed, feeling lighter than she had in some time.

"You're quieter now," Cole said.

"I am."

"Would you like to dance again?"

Raelin didn't bother to answer and instead they simply started twirling around once again.


End file.
